


no memories but these

by Cones_McMurphy



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Christmas fic!, F/M, Fluff, I think there might be a couple 'damns' in here, I'm working under the assumption that they spend a few weeks in the palace teaching Anya, Mistletoe, Pining, Pretty PG, Unresolved Romantic Tension, and I extrapolated some stuff about Dimitry's mother based on what he says before My Petersburg, and I made up that stuff about mistletoe to fit my plot needs lol, bc that's what it seems like to me, but other that pretty clean, vaguely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cones_McMurphy/pseuds/Cones_McMurphy
Summary: Vlad decides to bring some holiday cheer to the palace. Dimitry is...not a fan.





	no memories but these

**Author's Note:**

> Dimitry is a pining mess. I can't believe I wrote this. Shoutout to Rae (unacaritafeliz on tumblr, and I think on here as well), for being my beta reader!

They’ve been teaching Anya for little more than a week when Vlad stumbles into the palace, brushing snow off his coat with one hand, and cradling something gently in the other. Anya looks up from the book they’d given her on the Russian royal family and eyes him suspiciously.

“Whatcha got there?” Dimitry asks before Anya can speak.

“Glad you asked,” Vlad grins, “I thought we could teach Anya about the yuletide traditions of the Romanovs.”

Anya closes her book and sets it to the side, immediately interested. “You mean the Faberge eggs?” Anya sighed, and got that misty look she always got when she was remembering something. “They were beautiful,” she murmurs, loud enough that only Dimitry can hear from where he’s standing next to her.  

“Uh, no,” Vlad clears his throat, and holds up a branch, laden with small white berries. “Ta-Da!”

Dimitry chuckles. “Oh, good, and I was afraid this was going to be something important.”

Anya frowns, brows knitted together in confusion. “What is that? A branch?” She glanced first at Vlad, then at Dimitry, who takes a nervous step back.

“Don’t ask me,” Dimitry shakes his head. “He’s the one who brought us a branch.”

“I forget,” Vlad sighs, “That I’m dealing with commoners.”

“Hey!” Anya bristles at that. “Don’t lump me in with _ him _ .” Dimitry grits his teeth and shoots her an annoyed glare.

Vlad rolls his eyes. “I’ll take it back if you can tell me the significance of the branch I’m holding.”

Anya just glares at him, and Dimitry finds himself fighting a smile, despite himself. Anya is not one to mess with, he’s learned that over the past week. He likes that about her, when her vitriol isn’t aimed at him--of course, it usually is. 

“It’s mistletoe,” Vlad says, over emphasizing every syllable, hoping the word would jog a memory or two.

For Dimitry, it does, and his heart immediately jumps into his throat. His father had told him about the mistletoe tradition once, years ago. It seems like another lifetime now. “M-mistletoe?”

“Mistletoe?” Anya asks, arms now crossed across her chest. “What is that?”

“It’s very popular in England,” Vlad says.

“It doesn’t grow readily here, so only the wealthiest Russians have it,” Dimitry adds lightly, “I’ve never seen it in really life before. I’ve only heard stories. How’d you get it?”

“I have my ways,” Vlad says cryptically, and Dimitry decides it might be better if he doesn’t know.

“So…” Anya hesitates. “What do we do with it?”

“Well, typically, it is a decoration,” Vlad says carefully. “Hung over a doorway.”

Anya narrows her eyes. “It’s kind of…ugly, though, isn’t it?”

Dimitry snorts and covers his mouth. “I agree with her, Vlad. Let’s just toss it.”

“Hey!” Vlad snaps and lowers his hand, shielding the mistletoe from Dimitry’s outstretched hand. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get this?”

“But—” Dimitry tries, but Vlad cuts him off.

“But nothing.”

“But  _ why _ ?” Dimitry whines, aware he must sound like a child to Anya. “I doubt the Dowager Empress cares about Christmas decorations.”

“It’s December, Dimitry,” Vlad shakes his head. “I thought we might have some holiday cheer.”

Dimitry feels guilty for a moment, from the way Vlad’s face falls. But only for a moment, until his thoughts are interrupted.

“What’s the big deal about mistletoe?” Anya put a hand on her hip. “Why is Dimitry sweating? It’s a _ branch _ .”  

Dimitry shifts his weight from side to side uncomfortably.  _ Sweating? I’m not sweating. Why would I be sweating? _

“Vlad,” Anya huffs. “Clearly, this twig is more than a decoration.” 

“Oh, well,” Vlad clears his throat. “You hang it up…” He turns to the doorway he came through minutes earlier, and tacks the branch up over the threshold. “And then…if two people walk under it, they have to kiss.”

“Kiss?”

Vlad chuckles. “Oh yes, but only if you end up under it with someone else.”

“Which isn’t going to happen,” Dimitry adds, and avoids meeting her eye.

“Right…” Anya nods slowly. “Wouldn’t want that.”

* * *

Dimitry spends the next three days carefully avoiding the doorway, and Anya too, though she hardly seems to notice (which doesn’t bother him in the slightest), like the plague. He practically jumps when she walks in the room, and he knows that Vlad has been silently judging him, but he can’t help it.

He’s only kissed a couple of girls before. One when he was twelve. Her name was Elena and she tasted like cabbages. The other was more recent. Her name was Jackie, he was drunk, and he never saw her again. For a moment, he wasn’t so alone, but it was fleeting and empty, and…Dimitry  _ is  _ alone. Except for Vlad, he supposes, and this girl who barreled into his life unannounced and unwelcome.  _ Well _ , he thinks, watching her scrunch up her brow in concentration,  _ maybe not unwelcome. _

And that’s why he doesn’t want to kiss her. Feelings are messy and people leave. He learned  _ that _ from his mother. She left when he was three years old. He doesn’t remember her, but he remembers what it did to his father. And besides, Anya is his meal ticket, his way out. He can’t risk that because she’s pretty. He’s not stupid.

* * *

She kisses him. A week after Vlad puts up the mistletoe, she kisses him. It’s his fault, for letting his guard down, he knows that. But earlier they had danced and he felt something warm buzz in his chest when she looked at him, and he’s too distracted to notice that she’s coming in as he’s walking out.

She’s notices immediately, though. She freezes, stares at him, and he swallows nervously.

“We, uh,” he coughs, “It’s a stupid tradition. I don’t even know why Vlad bought the damn thing. We don’t have—”

She cuts him off abruptly with her lips on his and his whole body is paralyzed for a moment. Her lips are warm and chapped and she smells like damp wool. The buzzing in his chest is back, and he knows what it is now. She pulls away before he can react, and the moment is over seemingly before it began. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says in a whisper, looking up at him with wide eyes before turning and stepping through the threshold and into the palace.

He takes his own step out, and then turns and calls over his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Anya.”


End file.
